Thought The Story Of An Orphan
by ChuChuDarling81
Summary: Thought was a top student when he was in 4th grade, four grades higher than is classmates. His parents die in a car crash, and he is left to go to Wammy's House. He meets a few people and learns of the Death Note, ending up helping with the Kira Case.
1. Why Make My Life Miserable?

A young boy of possibly nine walked silently towards a house. It was half past three, the time you would expect a boy to be walking home from school. It was your average day twelfth of April, 2004, in London, England. The young boy had reddish-brown hair that appeared to be a pile of down feathers from a hawk. His eyes were a brilliant green, and he appeared of average height and weight.

He opened the door to the house, after having glanced at the driveway for cars. Guessing that the cars were parked inside the garage, he pressed the doorbell before stepping in the house completely. He heard no answer, therefore walking in the house with a slightly worried look.

The young boy silently set his backpack on the ground as he closed to door and started to walk towards a room. He knocked several times on the door frame, not getting an answer from anybody, if there was anybody home.

The phone rang from the room next to the one the boy currently stood in, forcing him to blink and walk into the other room, listening silently to the ringing of the phone. He bit his lip slightly and walked into the room, gently picking the phone up, breathing as loudly into it as he could through his teeth. Tears formed in his eyes as he stood silently with the phone to his ear.

"I'm so sorry, Taman...I'm really sorry...I found out a few hours ago...They...Kelly and Charles...You parents...." a woman was sobbing on the other side of the phone, obviously upset. "They...Were killed in a car crash...I'm terribly sorry, Taman! I wanted to tell you sooner...But I guessed of when you would have got home...I had to be the one to tell you...I'm so sorry I can't be there in person right now..." The woman's voice cracked and sobs came from the other end.

The boy, who's name was Taman, hung up the phone, tears rolling down his cheeks rapidly. He fell to his knees, but brought them to his chest, burying his face in his arms. He shook harshly, sobs rattling his figure. He wished he could produce more sound than breath, which was just barely audible in itself. He'd been a mute since he was born and was stuck with it till he died.

For lack of screaming, he shook even more with silent sobs. Why his parents?! Why didn't they leave earlier to beat the crash?! Why did they go that day, not the day before?! So many questions Taman had screaming in his head, but he didn't have anybody to hear them. He cried harder, fully aware that there wasn't anybody to hold him close and tell him it would be alright.

What would he do for school? He couldn't just skip it and pretend everything was alright. He couldn't go without having the teachers be all pitiful on him or any of the students mocking him about being teacher's pet.

He was the best student in his class, too, which was another reason he couldn't skip. His parents had decided against sending him to a private school for mutes, mostly for the cost, but also because he would only get to know mutes that had probably had a voice before - they wouldn't understand him fully. But with public school he got to know people who sympathized for him, were friendly to him. And then there were people who didn't care at all. He wanted everything to end. Just end.

Then the phone rang again. He lifted his head, tears still falling down his cheeks. He carefully stood up and picked up the phone, not bothering to try and make sound - his breathing created enough through his clenched teeth and anger towards the phone. Currently the phone was only a bearer of bad news.

"Taman Daniels; age nine; birthday, April thirteenth, nineteen-ninety-five; parents death at eleven thirty five AM on April twelfth, two-thousand-four; several grades higher than his classmates; mute since birth," the voice called gently through the phone. The voice was elderly, calm. "my name is Quillsh Wammy, founder of Wammy's House, the orphanage for gifted children, located in Winchester, England. You are welcome to get adjusted to being alone for a year exactly. once that year has passed, I will personally escort you to Wammy's House on your birthday. By being at Wammy's House, you earn a nickname. Everybody at Wammy's House has a nickname of their own. Yours will be...Thought."

Taman blinked back more tears as the line went dead on him. Someone actually was out there, looking after him somehow. One year wasn't that bad. A year to realize his parents weren't coming back. A year to think about a new home. A new start. A year for new friends like him. A new beginning. Right?


	2. Thoughts For The Unknowing

An eleven year-old boy stood silently in front of a desk, watching an elderly man. It had been a year since the boy had seen anybody at all, and he appeared to be slightly nervous about seeing the elder man.

"I'm so glad that you accepted my offer, Thought," the man called sweetly from behind the desk. He seemed used to the whole routine of picking up a child from their home, and bringing them to the orphanage. "You might get along well with Near and Mello, I'm sure. L is a great person as well, though he is...busy. We cannot contact him at the moment, therefore you cannot meet him yet. Near and Mello however would be glad to meet you, to have another friend." The man smiled, which looked a small bit strange on him.

Thought nodded slightly, having had pulled out a pen and a pad of paper, starting to scribble in neat handwriting on the page, all letters clear and legible. He lifted the pad and turned it to face the man, so he was able to read it.

THANK YOU. FOR EVERYTHING.

The man only smiled more. "You're welcome. Come, and I will introduce you to Near and Mello," he replied, making a move to stand up, keeping his gaze on Thought, who shook his head and scribbled more on the paper.

NO, PLEASE. I CAN GO AND FIND THE PAIR MYSELF AND INTRODUCE MYSELF. THANK YOU, THOUGH, MR. WAMMY.

"If you wish, Thought," the elderly man replied quietly, sitting down again. He kept his gaze on Thought as he bowed slightly and allowed a small smile to escape his lips. The young boy turned to leave after straightening from his bow, walking out of the small office.

The halls were so different and unfamiliar, though Thought continued walking on. He eventually found were Wammy had shown him his room, and peeked inside, seeing two boys he hadn't noticed before.

One of them sat on the edge of one of the three beds with one knee brought to his chest, his hand resting on top. The young boy had snow white hair and glowing silver eyes, his gaze on the ground. He fiddled with his hair for a few moments before finally looking up, a smile seeming to creep his lips. He appeared to be only a year older than Thought.

The second boy appeared several years older than the first boy. He had blond hair that reached his shoulders and electric blue eyes that seemed to work perfectly with his small smirk and black, Gothic attire. He was leaning carelessly against a wall, his arms crossing his chest, a chocolate bar in his hands. He appeared to be chewing on something, seeing as the chocolate bar was missing part of itself.

Thought hesitantly waved at the two boys when he felt both their gazes on him. "Hello," the white haired boy called softly, his tone sounding rather bored. "You must be Thought, correct? I am Near. And this is Mello." The blond boy frowned slightly at the white haired boy commenting, and shrugged.

"He's right. They call me Mello, they call him Near. M and N," he couldn't help himself and chuckled at the end of his sentence. "Sounds like M'n'Ms..." he mumbled to himself, taking another bite from the chocolate bar.

Thought bit his lip slightly and scribbled on the pad of paper, glancing up every few seconds at Near and Mello. Near watched Thought with interest, where as Mello watched with boredom, but curiosity.

YES, I AM THOUGHT. I HAPPEN TO BE A MUTE, AND WRITING IS MY QUICKEST WAY OF COMMUNICATION. SORRY IF IT GETS ON YOUR NERVES THAT I AM CONSTANTLY WRITING.

Near shook his head, watching the letters for a few moments. "Not at all. We do have computers that you type, and sound is produced. You could use an artificial voice instead of paper and pen, Thought," Near replied quietly, fingering his hair again.

"Mute, huh?" Mello questioned, standing up slightly. He smirked again, looking Thought up and down. "We do have computers, yes, but if you're quicker at writing than typing, I'd say stick with writing than use the artificial voice. I would however use the artificial voice during calls...." his voice trailed off, as if he was somewhat afraid he'd given too much information away.

"Mello..." Near frowned slightly, glaring a bit at Mello. "Leave Thought alone. I'm sure it was not his fault or idea to be mute. Do not tease him about it." Near straightened himself a bit, giving a little bit of a relaxed expression.

Thought glared a bit at Mello as well. He seems to be a jerk...Please tell me I am to share a room with Near and not Mello... he thought to himself, scribbling on the pad of paper again.

I WAS BORN MUTE. I WOULD PREFER IT IF YOU DIDN'T MAKE FUN OF IT.

Near nodded slightly and frowned at Mello even more. "Thought was born mute, Mello. He didn't have a choice. Leave him alone." he replied sourly, leaning into his knee.

Mello rolled his eyes and flopped onto the bed closest to him, pulling an ankle on top of his other knee, leaning against it as he took a bite out of the chocolate bar again. "Wa effer," he replied through the mouthful of chocolate.

"Just be happy that he technically shouldn't be in this room, Thought. He should be in the older boy's dormitories. For the ones who have already hit puberty." Near added with a slight smirk to himself.

Mello glared at Near. "Leas Iff hig pubry!" he scowled, swallowing the chocolate. "You're only twelve, and have yet to know more about it, so you have no room to talk, bud." Mello frowned at Near, who smiled playfully at him.

Thought let out a heavy, silent breath, sitting down next to Near, scribbling on the paper again. Near heard the scratching of the pen on the paper and turned to look at Thought, watching him write.

THERE ARE ROOMS FOR OLDER BOYS? WHY IS MELLO HERE, THEN? HE LOOKS TO BE MAYBE SEVENTEEN OR EIGHTEEN.

Near shrugged slightly. "Mello has this fondness to be around me to make fun of me. He enjoys it, if he's got a bar of chocolate," he replied quietly, just enough so that Mello could hardly hear him.

Thought grinned and appeared to laugh, but didn't make any sounds. Near gently placed a hand on Thought's shoulder, as if to tell him it was alright. Thought smiled even more, scribbling again.

I AM SURE THAT MY TIME SPENT HERE IS GOING TO BE WORTHWHILE.


End file.
